James Hook: Redemption (edited)
by dragonmactir
Summary: Sorry for the length: was too lazy to break it into chapters. A lightly edited version of the original further down my page. Looking for a beta. This is the second installment of the whole story.


**Prologue: Thirty Years Later**

There would be no point in recounting the years of bitter frustration that followed, the men that died with James' new hook buried in their guts. This is neither the time nor the place for such stories. If you want to know then you could do no better than to read the stories recounted by J.M. Barrie, even though the back story contained within is made up predominantly of the lies Pan came up with to fill in the curse of Forgetfulness that came along with becoming a denizen of the Never-Land.

James, too, forgot much in that time, some of it apparently irreparably. After ten years, for instance, he forgot that he had ever had another name. Hook he was, and Hook he had always been. He also forgot the reason for his persecution of the flying boy. He came to believe that it was the loss of his hand that drove him on, and forgot that Peter Pan had ever been a part of him. His lack of a shadow did not trouble him. He had come to believe himself to be demonic in nature, so of course he was not made as other men were. He even forgot his grudge against Bryce Buckland, though that at least returned to him on those increasingly rare occasions when the _Jolly Roger_ left Mermaid Lagoon.

No, the only thing that truly must be emphasized about the thirty long years James Hook and the crew of the _Jolly Roger_ spent chasing Pan and the Lost Boys across the face of the Never-Land, or being chased by the giant Crocodile, which at least was courteous enough to swallow rather a loud cabinet clock so that he could be heard on the approach, are the last events, where the known story of James Hook leaves off.

If you have already read the tale or seen one of the movies, then you could hardly have forgotten how James Hook learned the secret of Peter Pan's ability to fly and used it against the lad and nearly destroyed him. You'll also recall how Wendy Darling saved Peter's life with a Kiss. And you'll remember how the children turned Hook's own inner insecurities against him, forcing him to believe what he'd already believed deep within, that he was "Old, Alone, and Done For." And you'll remember that the Crocodile finally got his way, the great jaws snapping shut and apparently eliminating the soulless Hook from the world once and for all. But here's what you might not have known. 

James Hook, formerly James Cook, was a tall man, a little over six feet in height, and the fancy shoes he wore put him several inches higher. The Crocodile, however, was absolutely enormous, and its jaws were more than eight feet long. When it swallowed Captain Hook, it swallowed him whole, which, as you may be aware, is hardly the normal situation when being eaten by a crocodile. Just something to keep in mind as our story recommences, thirty years later.

 **Chapter One: Crocodile Meat**

Smee was fully aware he was a sniveling coward. That did not bother him. Even the fact that he had been forced off the plank of the ship and into the lagoon by a seven year-old boy in a nightshirt did not bother him overmuch. After all, it was cowardice that lead him to break with sailor superstition and learn to swim, a skill that came in handy now as he dogpaddled furiously to shore, hoping against hope that the Crocodile did not decide to make an appetizer of him while it waited its chance to snack on Captain Hook. No, what bothered him was the fact that cowardice led him to abandon his Captain when things were looking grim. True, James had always been very capable of looking after himself, but Smee, an old man now with hair and beard gone completely white, still felt a sliver of paternal pride for his foster that years of abuse had done little to dim.

Smee made it to shore safely and pulled himself onto the rocky scree, panting from the unaccustomed exertion. He flopped on his back on the shale and looked back at the ship. He was surprised to see two figures, high in the air over the decks, locked in combat. He was too far away to make out the details, but of course the little one had to be Pan. The other…well, the other looked very much like a tall man in a long jacket, with a Cavalier hairstyle. Captain Hook…flying?

Smee watched the battle, which seemed to go in James' favor for a time, and he saw the dreadful finale, the Captain slowly sinking out of the sky toward the snapping jaws of the Crocodile below. He also saw the Captain give up, fold his arms across his chest, and allow himself to fall at last. Smee turned away. The last thing he wanted to see was the Crocodile munching on his captain.

Things happened quickly from there. The remaining pirates were either forced or jumped off the _Jolly Roger,_ and then the faeries came from the island en masse and gathered in the rigging. Their dust sprinkled down on the decks and the _Jolly Roger_ lifted out of the water and flew away into the setting sun.

It was too much. Bad enough his captain was dead, but watching his home, and the only chance of escaping this wretched island, sailing away through the skies without him was just too much. Smee put his head on his chubby arms and wept.

He heard splashing in the water. He looked up, sniffling, and saw Akachi, the African Second Mate, walking out of the lagoon, dragging a slightly waterlogged but obviously still living Bill Jukes behind him. "Akachi, lad! Yer alive!"

Akachi grunted and hoisted Jukes onto the shore. Then he dove back into the water and swam back into the lagoon, using powerful strokes. He was back in a few moments with Alf Mason and that albino fellow, known only as Mister White, in tow. They were both alive, too.

"Mermaids got the rest," Akachi said. "You are men who live and work the seas. Why do you not learn to swim?"

"Sea'll…get ye," Jukes gasped out.

"If you do not swim, that is a certainty," Akachi pointed out.

Alf Mason coughed up a lungful of seawater and scrambled to his knees. "Should…find a place to hole up," he said. Smee reluctantly agreed. Akachi squatted down on the shore and folded his arms over his knees. He gazed out over the waters expectantly.

"Hey, ain't ye comin'?" Jukes asked.

"I wait for the Captain."

"Er, Akachi…maybe ye din't see, but…Captain's dead," Smee said.

"No."

"He is, Akachi," Bill Jukes said. "I seen it. Et by the Crocodile, he was."

"He is not dead. We wait."

Akachi was obdurate, and the men were tired. They sat and waited with him, not really expecting anything to happen but too weak to argue for the moment. Then…

"AAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIEE!" Smee shrieked as the waters of the lagoon boiled and the Crocodile surfaced just ahead of them. The pirates scrambled backwards as swiftly as they could, with the exception of the African who remained perfectly still.

The Crocodile thrashed in the waters, growling like mad, whipping up a thick froth on the surface of the sea. Then it jerked, flipped over onto its back, and grew still. The waves bore it to shore where it bobbed against the rocks like a massive, grotesque fishing lure.

"What in tarnation…"

A sharp metal hook sliced through the tough hide of the creature's throat from the inside, and a gaping bloody red hole opened up from which a coughing, bedraggled, bloodsoaked Captain Hook slowly emerged. Akachi leapt forward smartly to aid the pirate in his egress, while the others simply gaped like dead fish. Finally Mister White, who fancied himself something of a wit, found his voice.

"Well, I reckon that's the worst case of indigestion I ever seen," he said.

 **Chapter Two: The Jolly Roger Returns**

"Where is my ship?"

They were the first words out of James' mouth once he had his breath back. Smee and Bill Jukes shared an apprehensive glance.

"Well, er…'tis gone, Captain," Smee finally managed to say.

James grabbed him by the shirtfront. "Gone? What do you mean, 'gone?'"

"Pan took it! The faeries came and lit 'er all up, and off she flew! Wasn't nothin' I could do about it, Sir, honest!" Smee babbled. James released him and ran his hand through his hair distractedly.

"Oh, blast and damnation!" he said at last. "I had him! I had him right there at the end of my hook, and he slipped away again!" He continued in this vein for quite some time. His remaining crew, with the exception of Akachi, slowly backed away step by step as he ranted.

Finally James wrapped up his tantrum and shouted, "Start skinning that bloody carcass. We'll leave this god-forsaken island if we have to make a raft of its bones and row out of here."

This was the best news that Smee and the others had heard in thirty years, and they stepped up lively to skin the Crocodile's floating corpse. Its stinking guts floated on the waves and the foam was tinged pink with its blood in short order, and they had the great beast mostly dismantled within a few hours as winter settled in around them. Smee cut up the hide and stretched it to dry on makeshift frames of branches pinned together with the Crocodile's teeth.

"We could make a sail out'n it, Captain," he explained. "Then we wouldn't have to row the whole way."

James grunted speculatively. "Capital thought, Mister Smee. You're finally showing a modicum of intelligence."

But it was unnecessary effort. Before the task of skinning and boning the creature was completed, Bill Jukes stood up and pointed towards the horizon. "Look at that!"

James looked. Far away but drawing nearer, still several feet above the line of the water, the _Jolly Roger_ sailed, crewless and deserted, unerringly back to the Mermaid Lagoon, the only port she had known for almost a full three decades.

"Lord have mercy," Alf Mason breathed reverently. "She's come home to her Master, she has."

The ship landed in the water and momentum, aided by the breeze, carried her so close to shore she nearly ran aground. Akachi strode into the water immediately and climbed up the bow of the ship, clinging precariously - a feat none of the others could have duplicated. He finally reached the bowsprit and swung his legs into the forecastle. A few moments of activity out of sight and then he tossed down a line of rope.

"I find bosun's chair," he called down to James.

"Don't bother," James called back. Though he had not done it since losing his hand, he grabbed hold of the rope and climbed up the side of the hull, bracing with his feet and wrapping the rope once around his hook each time he made to move his hand further up. It was slow progress and laborious, and he was well winded by the time he made the deck, but he made it. Smee shinnied up after him, two good hands making up for age and weight, and Mason, Jukes, and Mister White had no difficulty at all.

"Take her out to open waters," James commanded, not caring who would snap to obey. "Get her away from these rocks before she's beached. Mister Jukes, do we have enough supplies on board for a sea voyage?"

"Well, Captain…with only six of us lef'…I reckon we got a week or two's worth a' food but we're low on fresh water…I suppose I oughta fill a few barrels 'fore we set sail or we may find ourselves dyin' a thirst in the middle a' the ocean."

James nodded. "Take Mister White and have done with it."

"Aye aye, Captain."

 **Chapter Three: Shiver me Timbers, I'm Sailing Away**

It took them somewhat longer to get underway than James' anticipated. It didn't take much thinking to come to the conclusion that "a week or two" of food for six people was not a good comfort zone, particularly given the _Jolly Roger_ 's frequently fractious behavior when leaving the island behind. He set Mason, Jukes, and Mister White to gathering fruit and whatever else they could scrounge from the jungle, and Akachi and Smee set to work cutting and salting Crocodile meat. James took a sadistic pleasure in eating the creature that had persecuted him so long and nearly succeeded in eating him.

Smee scavenged the teeth, claws, skin, and some of the bones of the creature as well, for some project he had in mind. Finally the provisioning was done and James gave the order to haul anchor and set the sails. With only six men aboard, and one of those minus a fully functional hand, it was difficult work. Just pulling up the anchor chain took all six of them four hours at the capstan. Setting the sails was even harder, though it didn't take as long. Determined not to be shown up by a group of men who, with but the exception of Mister White, were older than he, James pitched in as best as he could and even climbed up into the rigging for the first time since the early days of his captaincy. It was easier than climbing the rope, because of the rungs, but still damnably hard. He was out of condition; he would have to rectify that.

As the ship pulled away from shore at last, James was perched in the crow's-nest, ostensibly watching but actually taking a well-deserved breather before making his long, laborious way back to the deck. From that vantage he saw the flitting figure of Peter Pan, returning from who knows where at last, the sun coming out along with him, and James felt a funny lurch inside when he realized the boy was alone. The Darling children and the Lost Boys had not returned with him. Alone, he was perhaps vulnerable…

James climbed down the rigging and returned to the deck. "Aim us at the Pirate Isles, Mister Smee," he ordered, only a slight quaver of misgiving in his voice. "The ship is in sorry state; we need more crew and she needs a bit of refitting and weatherproofing."

"Aye, Captain."

"I'll be in my cabin. Notify me at once if there is any problem."

"Aye, Captain."

James left the deck and sank into the chair at his desk. He felt like a coward, slinking away with his tail between his legs. But facing Pan again, so soon after having snatched defeat so neatly from the jaws of victory, was too much to bear. Like as not the boy did not even remember him anymore - his last memories would be of Hook being eaten by the Crocodile, and all else would be wiped from his mind by the curse of the island. Perhaps he would try again, when he was strong and his crew was replenished. But he could not even think of it now. It was time to leave.

 **Chapter Four: Pitch and Tar**

A spot of good luck; Bill Jukes discovered the French chef, Maurice, holed up in the galley behind the cook stove on the first day out. The little man was apparently relieved to find himself once more amongst the black-hearted scoundrels he had served for so long, and made a phenomenal feast out of Crocodile meat, oysters, mango, and ship's biscuit. This was excellent news: no one else aboard knew the first thing about cookery, and eyed the freestanding stove, with its buckets of sand to extinguish any fires before they could spread, with considerable mistrust.

"Gunk holing" was not a typical activity for such a big ship, but since the Pirate Isles were all claimed and hotly contested, and with only six men aboard the heavy arms meant nothing, James ordered the _Jolly Roger_ into a shallow, sheltered lagoon on the far side of the first small, mostly uninhabited Pirate Isle they came to. It was not an ideal port, but they could pull pitch from the trees on shore and there was ample fresh water in a spring just a mile inland. Because of the shoals and shallow depth, they were unlikely to find another pirate ship attempting to use these waters.

The _Jolly Roger_ was carrying a supply of tar, which Smee softened on the stove under Maurice's stern and cautious supervision. Bill Jukes and Alf Mason took this substance aloft to tar the sails and rigging, to protect them from the wind and rain, an operation which was supposed to take place frequently, almost constantly, but which had not been performed for the _Jolly Roger_ in some years.

Smee was closeted with his Crocodile project, and a maddeningly mysterious production he made of it, too. James sent Mister White over the side in a bosun's chair to scrape barnacles and he himself put his hook to practical use and pitched the deck.

"Pitching the deck," in this case, meant digging out the old pitch from between the planks and pouring in fresh. It was a labor-intensive, thankless task, but it needed to be done, and James had the best tool for the job right at hand - or at right hand, as it were. His iron hook fit perfectly between the planks to dig out the caked and sticky remains of ancient pitch, and worked a treat for scraping down the fresh pitch to level once it was dried. It was the first time in the whole of his thirty years as James Hook that the implement had been put to honest work, as opposed to merely dirty business.

Once the work was finally finished, the _Jolly Roger_ had once more taken on a bit of her old shine. Recalling a touch of their old pride, the mates actually went so far as to polish her guns, even though they couldn't use more than two of the big 24-pounders at a time with so few men.

"Where're we headin' fer, Captain?" Bill Jukes asked, manning the helm when James gave the order to make ready to set sail.

"We'll head for the Bahamas and see how the land lays. We need to recruit more crew, and fast."

 **Chapter Five: The Grey Lady**

"Ship ahoy!"

James followed Alf Mason's pointing finger and spied the sails on the horizon. A three-masted schooner, speedy and elusive. Probably not heavily armed. For a moment a hunter's instincts warred with practicality in James' mind, and he was seriously tempted to try for it, but scarcely a second passed before he said, "Pass her by, Mister Jukes. We'll have ample opportunity for plunder when we have a full complement of men aboard."

"Aye aye, Captain."

James counted on the _Roger_ 's impressive size and armament to dissuade any piratical impulses from the other ship, and indeed when the course of the ships brought them into clear view of each other no particular activity could be seen on her decks. Then:

"The _Grey Lady!"_ Smee cried, then clapped a fat hand over his mouth. He cast nervous eyes at his captain.

James cogitated. The name stirred up something long-forgotten, a memory that did not wish to be disturbed. Finally it emerged, and when he lifted his face his eyes were red with rage.

"Buckland," he snarled. It did not occur to him for a moment that after thirty years, Bryce Buckland - about thirty years older than James himself, was probably retired or dead. "Ready the cannons and prepare to broadsides."

"But, Captain…we don't have enough men to man the heavy guns," Bill Jukes protested. "Do ye want us on the rail guns?"

James suppressed the urge to gut the man. He didn't have enough men left to wantonly slaughter those that remained. "No. Mister Smee, take the helm. The rest of you, come with me. We'll introduce the _Grey Lady_ to our old friend Long Tom."

Five men on the great beast of a cannon was rather short of the ten men it usually took to position, load, and fire the massive gun with its 60 pound artillery. They managed, however, with considerable strain. James would feel it in his back, chest, and shoulders for days, and his men would feel little better. One shot put a hole in the _Grey Lady's_ hull that would've sunk her instantly if it had been closer to the waterline; as it was the surprise attack had the decks in turmoil and it was simplicity itself to swing to her on grappling lines and subdue the idiot, complacent crew. Thankfully there were only about a dozen men who had survived the cannon blast, or things might have been different despite the confusion. After only a brief skirmish, in the course of which they did more damage to themselves than James and his minimal crew, the men of the _Grey Lady_ threw down their weapons and threw up their hands. The pirates forced them to their knees and James ordered them chained. Chains were easy to find on this ship, as a whole pile of manacles lay in the sunshine on the decks, apparently freshly repaired and ready to be put on the wrists of unfortunate captives bound for slavery on the illegal plantations of the Caribbean.

A young man in the garb of a Captain came stumbling out of the lower hatches, befuddlement indicating that the shot and battle had awakened him. He was a sloppy looking thing and James had an inkling that he would look befuddled even when taken wide awake.

"What is the meaning of this? Brigands! I demand you cease your activities at once!"

James' blade flashed to a point just above the young man's stiff white collar. "Fool. You are in no position to make demands. Are you the captain of this stinking garbage scow?"

The man had guts, James had to admit. Or else he was simply too stupid to realize that things were no longer working in his favor. He straightened his lapels and drew himself up importantly. "I am, Sir. Captain Philip Marshall out of Lost Hope, Captain of the _Grey Lady_. This ship is on important business for Commodore Bryce Buckland."

James grinned. "So the old reprobate _is_ still alive, is he? I couldn't help but notice you came up from the crew's quarters… Is he on the ship? Taken over your cabin, perchance?"

"Commodore Buckland lives in comfortable retirement in Lost Hope. This ship is conveying to him the spoils of his latest commercial transaction, and…and…" The young fool trailed off, for the first time seeming to realize he was in a bad position and he was probably only digging his grave deeper by describing the ship's valuable cargo.

James stepped toward the door of the Captain's cabin, sword blade still directed to the Captain's throat.

"What valuable cargo could you be carrying, I wonder, that it must inhabit your own hard-earned cabin for such a long voyage? Some tender tropical fruit, easily bruised…easily bespoiled?" He slammed his hook down on the door latch and the portal popped open. Like a cork from a bottle, a young lady stumbled out, off-balance, but she was quick to recover and raise the sword she held. James casually knocked it out of her hand and grabbed her around the shoulders. He held her with her back pressed tight to his chest and held his hook up before her eyes. "Don't fight, Girlie, or it'll go hard with ye," he said.

She attempted to kick up behind, aiming for the crotch of his trousers. He turned aside in time or she might have managed it. Instead of getting angry, he chuckled.

"Little kitten has claws," he said. "Tell me, Lass; you must be Buckland's granddaughter, are you not? Great-granddaughter, perhaps?"

"I'm his fiancée," she growled. She unloosed a torrent of highly unladylike vocabulary, mostly pertaining to James' hypothetical parentage.

"Actually, my father was a banker and my mother was a High Society matron," James edified her genially, "but you're not far wrong. In any event, you have my sincerest condolences on your ill-fortune. What foul tide carried such a lovely young thing into such revolting clutches?"

"Yours or Buckland's?" she shot back. James only laughed.

"Buckland's. Be honest, girl - compared to that fat, toothless old sea dog, I couldn't look all that revolting, now could I?"

The girl's struggles ceased as she considered that. "He does business with my father," she said at last.

James released his embrace of her, though he kept a tight grip on her arm. "Let me guess. Your father is a fast-talking merchant who does a profitable side-line in the illegal slave trade?"

The look she shot him was scathing. "Yes."

"And now he's sold you into slavery to the man who runs his foul business for him."

She looked away from him quickly, but not before he saw the tears springing up in her bright green eyes. "See here," she said at last, with only the slightest trace of sniffle and quaver in her voice. "I've spent my entire life going to church on Sundays and watching my father peddle souls the rest of the week. I don't have what you might call a strong moral foundation. I just want to live, and preferably not in pain and torment. Perhaps…we could reach some kind of accord?"

Her voice broke on the last word. James was unused to the faint sense of pity he felt for her. "What kind of proposal do you have in mind?" he asked.

"I'll do whatever you want me to do. In exchange, all I ask is you don't hurt me and you don't…don't…

give me to your crew."

Her head hung now, her fine blonde hair fell into her face.

"I have a counter-proposal for you," James offered. "I won't hurt you, allow my crew to hurt you, or ask anything of you at all. In exchange, all I do ask is that you do for me what you were prepared to do for Buckland."

"Wh-what do you mean?" she asked.

"Marry me."

She was shocked at first, then speculative. She obviously had a survivor's instincts and James politely allowed her time to weigh the advantages and disadvantages of such a proposal.

"I…suppose you can't be much worse than Buckland," she said slowly. "And you are certainly less…unattractive…"

"Your effusions are really too much to bear," James said. "I may begin to blush."

"…And this would be like spitting in their faces, Father and Buckland both." She grinned, and James caught a glimpse of a pirate's heart behind the lady's face. "Aye, Sir, I think I would do well to accept your kind offer."

"Then there's no sense in waiting around. Akachi, set the young Captain on his feet, please."

The Second Mate had pounced on the young man when that worthy made to defend the lady on her first appearance. He hoisted him unceremoniously up and kept a hand firmly on the scruff of the young man's neck.

"Captain, if you would be so kind," James said. "You see, I can hardly perform my own marriage ceremony."

The man spit at James' feet. James' eyes followed the thick glob to the decking, then looked back at Akachi with a sardonic command in the cock of his eyebrows. Akachi understood perfectly and clocked the young Captain hard on the back of the head. "Do as Captain Hook say," he said, "or I drag you along behind our ship for twenty leagues."

The young man swallowed twice, then, wild-eyed, rambled off a disjointed but fairly accurate rendition of a marriage ceremony.

"Do you, uh…" he trailed off when they reached the vows.

"Jas Hook," James supplied helpfully.

"Do you, Jas Hook, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and…uh…well, do you?"

"Aye."

"And do you, Aster Ladysmith Tillman, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

She hesitated only a fraction of a second before answering firmly, "Aye."

 **Chapter Six: A Married Lady**

Alf Mason and Bill Jukes dropped the gangplank of the _Grey Lady_ onto the gunnels of the _Jolly Roger_ , and James escorted his new bride across gallantly.

"Akachi, see to it that the lady's personal effects are transferred to the ship in good order. Also I leave it in your capable hands to ensure that the full manifest of the _Grey Lady's_ cargo is transferred to the _Jolly Roger_. We'll consider it Lady Aster's dowry."

"Aye Captain. What do we do with the ship when we have the gold?"

"Oh, sink her, by all means."

Aster grabbed his sleeve. "But, the captain, and the crew - you can't just leave them to drown."

James fetched a theatrical sigh. "My lady is right, it would be insufferably bad form. Kill them first, then sink the ship."

Akachi nodded. "Aye, Captain."

"But…but they've surrendered, you don't have to kill them…"

"The alternative is to bring them aboard the _Jolly Roger_. I'll not have a man of Bryce Buckland's aboard my ship. You are not a member of my crew, My Lady," he said, pouring on the sarcasm, "and a good thing for you that is true. I would not suffer a man under my command to so question my orders."

"I - I'm sorry."

"You are forgiven," he said magnanimously. "Just remember that your place is not in the running of this ship. Now, if you object to witnessing the spilling of blood, for which I could hardly blame you, you may retreat to my Cabin. Your belongings will be brought to you shortly."

Aster fled. She wondered if she had not made a mistake, agreeing to anything this man proposed, but then again, had she really a choice? A prisoner she had been aboard her father's co-owned ship, and a prisoner she remained, although now her captor was a thoroughly unknown quantity. She might have believed that no fate could be worse than to be wed to Bryce Buckland, with his toothless gums and his roving, sweaty hands, but this man…he was cold. Cold as death. Cold as Death, maybe, with a capital D. She had his word he would not hurt her or give her to the crew's leisure, but what value was the word of a pirate? He would take what he wanted from her, the money in the cargo hold no doubt, and perhaps a bit more he could shake out of her father and Buckland's pockets, and then dispose of her. Why he had married her she could not fathom, unless it was, as she suspected, a method of spitting in Commodore Buckland's face. She would have to stay on her toes if she meant to survive this encounter.

While she waited for her doom to fall, she sat on the very edge of one of the four dining chairs at the table, and her eyes kept wandering back to the bunk made up against the far wall. The Marriage Bed? The thought made her shudder, but then she had never expected to take any pleasure in that. In that regard at least she could not consider herself worse off than before.

Aster crossed her arms over her chest and willed herself to strength. She had always prided herself on mental and physical toughness - now was her chance to prove it. She was, Lord help her, a Married Lady.

 **Chapter Seven: Bad Luck**

"Ahoy, Bill - can you imagine?" Alf Mason asked as he and Bill Jukes cast off the lines connecting the _Grey Lady_ to the _Jolly Roger._ "Captain Hook, married? I don' think he's ever even looked at a lady before, I don't. So such sudden nuptials set me to wonderin' what gives, it do."

"I heerd her say she was promised to this Buckland fella what Captain don't much care for. I reckon he's gettin' a piece a' revenge against him wi' this."

"Funny sorta revenge. I feels sorry for the Captain, I does. Who'd lock himself down with a ball and chain if they don't have to, right?"

"I tells you what, I don't much fancy the idear of a female-type on board this ship. Ain't we had enough bad luck fer one crew?"

"Oh, aye - and should you or I tell Captain Hook to get rid a' the wench, eh?"

Bill Jukes shuddered. "Aye, I catch yer meanin'. There's bad luck and worse luck; I reckon I'll take me chances on bad."

 **Chapter Eight: Broken Clocks**

Aster covered her ears with her hands when she heard the cannons roaring. She had never realized how loud the big guns were; she had never been so close to such big guns firing. She tried not to think of the crew of the _Grey Lady._ She held no love for them, it was true, but the cold fact of their deaths, and the portion of the responsibility for that she might, if she looked at it from a certain perspective, lay at her own feet, was too much to contemplate for now. She had other troubles that presented themselves more immediately, in any event.

The tall black man, with the brawny, bare chest, brought in her trousseau, the three trunks of "wedding clothes" her father had outfitted her with before packing her off to her eighty-six year-old bridegroom. She thought of the frilly, rather indecent night things contained in the second trunk and rejoiced at the notion that Buckland would never see her wear them. Still, Buckland was old. She had always hoped that, when the time came, he would prove unequal to the task of…"husbanding"…her, and would likely die within a short time. Though his pale, thin face was reminiscent of consumption, Aster thought she might well dispense with the idea that this Hook fellow would be passing on any time soon. He seemed…vigorous.

That was more than could be said for his ship. It was shocking how few men he had under his command, and yet he'd taken the _Grey Lady_ so easily. Captain Marshall was a slovenly leader, but it was hard to imagine the ship being taken so completely off guard. Perhaps this Jas Hook was brilliant…or simply lucky.

He came in shortly after the black man left. He did not acknowledge her at first, and she had her opportunity to look him over while he brushed off his hat and hung it up, a meticulous process.

 _Well, he's handsome. There's that, at any rate._ _If only he didn't look so cruel._

"Are you hungry?" he said at last, still not looking at her. "Our provisions are somewhat limited but my chef is absolutely brilliant."

"Oh. Er…yes, that would be…wonderful, thank you. That is to say, I would join you if you are eating."

He looked at her then, forget-me-not blue eyes satirical. "Don't care to eat alone? Or only afraid to offend me?"

"A bit of both, actually," she said, more boldly than she felt.

James laughed. "Wise."

He pulled on a bell cord, and within a few moments a fat, white-bearded mate Aster had not seen before appeared at the door.

"Aye, Captain?" Mister Smee asked.

"Tell Maurice I'll have company for dinner. Tell him to make me proud."

"Aye Captain," Smee said, with one curious glance at Aster before waddling away.

"My First Mate," James explained. "Not a bright bulb, exactly, and virtually useless in a battle, but a good fellow and loyal. If ever you require anything, he would be the man to ask. Akachi, my Second Mate, might seem more intimidating to you, perhaps, but he is also a good fellow and loyal. He's also the only man on my crew with any real sense."

"Akachi…is the black man?"

James paused for thought before replying. "He is that, yes. He was also, I seem to recall, a captive aboard one of your former fiancé's ships."

"I had nothing to do with my father's business."

"I have little doubt of that. Nevertheless, perhaps it is best you limit your contact with my Second Mate for the time being. He may carry a grudge I know nothing of."

James sat down across the table from her and began to ask her questions about herself. He was as capable of being charming as terrifying, she found, and to her surprise she found herself relaxing a bit and divulging more personal information than she intended to. Relief probably loosened her tongue as much as anything: he showed no signs of ravaging her offhandedly, at least. Relief was likely what motivated her to ask her new husband a question that had preyed on her mind since she stepped into his cabin.

"I notice your clock is not functioning," she said, indicating a small cabinet clock perched over the Captain's desk. "You also appear to have rather a large crate of…smashed watches. If I may be so bold as to ask, do you bear some particular grudge against Time?"

James leaned back in his chair. "Time has been no friend of mine," he admitted. "However, the tale of those watches and that clock in particular is more complex. It is also a tale that is not particularly flattering, though the ending is, for me, a relatively happy one."

"Is it a tale I might hear?"

"I suppose there is no harm in it." He raised his hook. "My hand, you see, was taken by a giant Crocodile."

 **Chapter Nine: Justification**

Aster spent the next three days in the Captain's Cabin of the _Jolly Roger_. In that time she found out some surprising things about her new husband, not least of which was that he seemed to have no interest in her as anything more than a conversational companion. Though they shared the same bed at night, he remained on the far edge and did not even touch her. In fact he scarcely touched her at all. The first time she actually made skin-to-skin contact with him was on her second day aboard when the ship hit an odd swell. Caught off-balance, she grabbed James' hand to steady herself.

"Cold!" she gasped, shocked.

"I seem to recall an adage about 'cold hands, warm heart,'" James said, with a fractional smile.

"Seems a bit unlikely," she said, before she could stop herself. Her father had always warned her that her flip comments would get her into trouble.

James seemed not to notice, or more likely not to mind. He released her hand as soon as she had her balance and continued on as though nothing had happened.

Mid-day on the fourth day, James entered the cabin to find Aster pacing restlessly across the open length of floor, a distance of only seven steps. "Cabin fever?" he asked.

"Only a touch, perhaps. I haven't spent much time on ships previously. And on the _Grey Lady_ I could walk on the open deck for a bit of air."

"My dear, there is no reason why you cannot walk the decks of the _Jolly Roger_. If you fear my crew, it is needless. No man aboard would venture my wrath, of that you may be sure."

"I…should not like to make a bother of myself," Aster replied.

James laughed. "My lady, there are six men aboard a ship built to be worked by a crew of better than fifty. Provided you keep a reasonable eye out for the normal hazards of a sailing ship, you shouldn't find yourself an obstacle."

Aster hesitated. "How is it that you have so few men?" she asked at last.

"A touch of misfortune, and a tale I shall not relate. Suffice it to say that most of my crew - and it was never large - believed me dead when I was taken by the Crocodile, as I told you previously. The ensuing panic left me with what you see."

"And how can you continue to operate such a ship with only six men?"

"I cannot. Which is why we're heading to port in the hopes of recruiting more sailors. In general, the best way to recruit pirates is to take a ship and offer the chance to crew to the men on board, but I'll not risk ship-to-ship battle when I have only two heavy guns to use."

"Yet you took the _Grey Lady,"_ Aster pointed out cautiously.

"A rash decision made without sense or care. That it was a successful gambit does not excuse the risk, and it is an action I shall not take twice under these conditions. Especially now."

"Why especially now?"

He blinked at her. "Why, because you are a passenger on my ship, not a pirate on my crew, and defenseless."

The remark left her nettled. "So it's all right to risk innocent lives, provided they aren't on your ship?"

"Innocent lives are always at risk on the sea," James replied, apparently not offended by her tone. "And where pirates sail that risk increases. But perhaps you have gotten the impression that I make a habit of killing the crews and sinking the ships I plunder. This is not the case; ordinarily I would offer the sailors a chance to crew with me, and anyone who did not force my hand would be allowed to live regardless of whether or not they chose to join me. But I find slavery a far more despicable practice than honest piracy - I'll not allow a slave ship to continue its loathsome trade while I hold the power to stop it."

"I…suppose you have a point," she agreed reluctantly. She had just enough sense of morality to find certain subtle flaws with James' logic, but she did agree in practice that piracy, and perhaps even murder in some forms, was less reprehensible than the sale of human lives.

James put his hook under her chin and gently raised her face until she was looking directly into his eyes. "Tell the truth, my lady - were you more offended by my implication that innocent lives on other people's ships meant little or nothing to me, or by the fact that I called you defenseless?"

"I can fight. When the fight is fair."

"But you are a woman, and rather a tiny one at that. When would the fight ever be fair?"

Her lips compressed in a tight line. He read the stubbornness in her eyes and smiled.

"Perhaps you aren't defenseless, at that. We'll see, shan't we? It is a question of some moment to the course of your future on this ship, or off it, as the case may be."

 **Chapter Ten: A Fresh Proposition**

There was no time for Cabin Fever in the next days; James seemed determined either to test or break Aster's courage. He challenged her to sword fights, all of which he won without even appearing to try. He made her help the men stow the cannons and laughed at her futile efforts to push the heavy iron. He even made her swab the deck. Every night she fell into bed, exhausted, only to be rousted at far too early an hour for some fresh torture which was, in actuality, the mildest work anyone put in on the undermanned ship. And she enjoyed every minute of it.

"You are improving," James said as he disarmed her for the four thousandth time.

"You're still not trying," Aster said grimly, and wiped her hands on her skirts.

"My dear, you are speaking to a man who has lived by the blade the whole of his adult life. You are also speaking to a man not ordinarily concerned with the concept of a completely fair fight. You need to learn to exploit weaknesses. You're almost two feet shorter than I, and weigh less than a water barrel. If you don't learn to take any advantage you can grasp, you'll never win."

"You mean I ought to cheat?"

"It's not cheating if it puts you on an equal footing, now is it? And in a real fight, against someone who is really trying to kill you, why would you be concerned about fair play? As I recall, you did make an attempt to raise the octave of my singing voice when first we met. If that's not taking an unfair advantage, Love, I don't know what is."

"Raise the…oh! I - I'm sorry about that, I didn't - "

"Don't be sorry, you did what you had to. Tried, anyway. That's what I've been telling you, isn't it? You take what advantages you can find."

"Let me try again," Aster said, and retrieved her sword.

They sparred, and Aster looked for weaknesses in James' defense. At first she thought he had none, and then she realized something, something he had mentioned. She was short.

She twirled away from an attack and ducked down. The move would have been perfect if her skirts had not twisted around her ankles, causing her to stumble. Her blade went too far and she felt it slice across the front of his jacket. She dropped it and caught herself before she could fall flat on her face.

"Well, that was certainly an improvement," James said above her. "Keep that up and I'll have to start trying."

"It wasn't supposed to work quite that way," she said. Her hair had partly come loose from its bun and she pushed strands out of her face as she got to her knees. "I didn't cut you, did I?"

She looked up. His fine coat was sliced and hung at an angle. He opened it, revealing an equally ruined waistcoat. Below that was a cut shirt. But there was no blood, which was a considerable relief.

Then he opened his shirt. A livid six-inch gash gaped on his stomach. Aster shrieked.

"It's all right," James said calmly. "I wouldn't have entered into this if I weren't prepared to get hurt. Mister Smee will stitch me up and all will be fine."

"Y-You're not bleeding," Aster said once some of the shock wore off.

"I never bleed," James said. "I thought you might have noticed by now, but I am not an ordinary man."

"H-how is that possible?"

"I couldn't venture to guess," James said, one eyebrow raised. "Possibly for the same reason I cast no shadow."

"You…" For the first time, Aster noticed that, while her own shadow stretched across the deck in opposition to the morning sun, James had none at all. "What in God's name…"

"I doubt it has much to do with Him," James said. "Does it bother you so much? It didn't seem to before."

He held out his hand to her. Hesitantly, she grasped it and allowed him to pull her to her feet. "N-no, it doesn't bother me," she said.

"It does, though," James said. "I hope in time you can forgive me my strangeness. I find it a great advantage in my profession."

"I'm sorry I hurt you," Aster said. He still held her hand, and the chill of his skin had taken on a new meaning.

"I know it isn't proper for ladies to wear trousers," James said, "but you might consider it if you wish to continue the study of swordplay. Mister Smee could cobble together something quite passable for you, perhaps some form of divided skirt."

Aster decided the time had come to ask something she had been wondering for some time.

"Why are you teaching me these things?" she asked. "It can't be simply to keep me amused…can it?"

"If it amuses you, that's reason enough isn't it?" James said. "But if you must know, I wanted to see if you could handle it. I rather think you can."

"But to what end?"

James raised his arms in a shrug. "That's entirely up to you at this point. If you want to know the truth, when I took you aboard I had no other thought in mind than to make Buckland grind his dentures, if he has any. My intent was to set you up in a house somewhere with an allowance of gold, and we'd go our separate ways. But you turned out to be an interesting companion. You are intelligent, spirited, and courageous, qualities I have generally found lacking in the men I ship with. If you think you can handle the…'moral quandaries' of the pirating life, you may find it an enjoyable profession. I certainly do."

"Me? A pirate? But…but I'm a woman."

"Lady pirates are not unknown. They are legendary by their very nature, but they exist. Of course I would not actually put you to work alongside the men, you're simply not strong enough and could never be - it's a matter of size and leverage. But there is much you could do, if you wished to learn."

"I…I don't know what to say…"

"Don't answer now. Think it over. It's a hard life, I won't lie to you, and dangerous. And it isn't exactly pretty. But it is certainly lucrative, and you don't strike me as the sit-at-home-and-make-babies type of woman."

 **Chapter Eleven: Up the Crow's Nest**

"Come. I want to show you something," James said. He took Aster's hand and led her to the main mast. "Up you get."

"Up…up there?" Aster said, eyeing the flimsy-looking rope ladder mistrustfully.

"Up to the Nest, little bird."

"I…I can't."

"Of course you can. _I_ can, and I've only got one good hand."

Aster gathered her nerve and grasped the first rung. She blessed Mister Smee's nimble needle for the practical trousers she was wearing (though the poor little man had blushed furiously the whole while he made them) as she made the climb, James following along behind and urging her on with genial curses.

The last fifty feet were the hardest. Her arms were tiring and her legs were shaky, and only James' swearing kept her moving.

"You think this is hard? The men generally use plain rope when climbing the rigging. Smee is a fat old man and he can still scramble - a strong young woman has no excuse."

"Mister Smee isn't scared out of his mind up here," Aster muttered.

"What's that?"

"Nothing."

She found it in herself to climb up the rest of the way, though her heart quailed each time she reached for another rung. When she finally reached the Crow's Nest she collapsed into the bottom, no longer caring what impression she gave. James clambered up and in right behind.

"You're afraid, aren't you?" he asked. He sounded almost incredulous. "Afraid of heights?"

"Yes."

"Well we can't have that. Get up."

"No."

"Come now, girl, show some backbone. On your feet." He reached down and hauled her up by the arm. He then climbed out of the nest and onto the yardarm. "Get out here."

"You're mad."

"Others have said so. It did them no more benefit than it shall do you. Do as I say."

He pulled her onto the yardarm. She shrieked and clutched at his jacket.

"Watch the fabric, Love."

"This is insane!"

"This is how I learned," James said mildly. "I can vouchsafe that it works. Now stand off. I'll hold your hand. Don't worry, I shan't let go."

He did not give her a choice in it; he pried her clutching fingers from his lapel and took a step further from her. Aster closed her eyes and muttered a prayer.

"You're doing capitally," James said. "Find your center and stiffen your spine. You'll never stop wobbling if you make like a dead fish."

Aster heard him, distantly, and tried to obey. It was easier said than done. Her legs felt like jelly and her knees knocked. Then he stepped closer to her and pressed the wooden stump of his false arm against the small of her back. "Come now, you can do this."

He was steady as a rock, and the extra support did calm her a bit. She took a deep breath and stood up straight. She wobbled, he caught her, and suddenly she had her center of balance and the tight grip of fear around her heart loosened.

"Excellent. I'm proud of you. Back you go into the nest," James said, and put her there. She managed at last to peek out from under her lashes in time to see him step into the half-barrel nest himself. "Now, what I wanted you to see: Open your eyes and look due west."

She obeyed. The sun was setting into the clear blue Caribbean waters and the sky was on fire with reds, oranges, pinks, and purples. On the furthest edge of vision was a tiny slip of land.

"Nassau, our destination. We're still about a half-day out," James explained.

Aster had never seen anything so beautiful in her life as that sunset. And James' arm around her waist, to steady her if the vertigo came back, seemed somehow to improve it.

 **Chapter Twelve: Recruitment Tactics**

"Will you come ashore with me?" James asked. "The boys haven't had any R and R for quite some time, so I'm letting them have at it. I feel an urgent desire to begin recruiting, however. The ship stands in sore need of a carpenter, among other things. I warn you, though - the place to recruit a pirate crew would by necessity be the least auspicious tavern in town. Not a pleasant place for a lady, no doubt."

"I don't mind. I should be most interested to meet the new crew," Aster said, and took his offered hand. He led her down the gangplank to the wharf.

"Now, stay close to me, and be wary. There's sure to be pickpockets and it is almost without question that you'll draw a few unwelcome propositions. Deflect them as you will; I'm sure your sharp-edged tongue will hold you in good stead."

It was clear by James' casual stroll that he had no set destination in mind; indeed, it had been so long since he had set foot on the island that he recognized few landmarks. Still, seaside towns were pretty much the same the world over; the scummiest taverns were those nearest the docks.

James found a suitably menacing exterior and they entered a busy pub. A clean, put-together lady drew immediate attention even though Aster had purposely worn her shabbiest dress, and for the first time in her life she encountered the very worst of male attitudes towards females.

The most memorable encounter was a severely sotted sailor who grasped her free arm and breathed rum into her left ear. "Hey, darlin', how's about ye come sit on my face tonight?"

She pushed him away. "It would certainly improve your appearance, scurvy cur," she said, to James' evident amusement.

James set up at one of the tables after announcing he was looking for crew. The tavern was full of sailors and the cheap liquor ensured that many of them were looking for position, so the offer of work drew considerable interest. Aster stood at James' left elbow and tried to make herself invisible.

"What's yer ship and where's yer port?" a burly sailor in a red shirt asked after muscling to the front of the queue.

"The _Jolly Roger,"_ James answered succinctly. "She has no home port."

The man blew beery laughter into James' face. Aster tensed, more than half expecting James to rise up and kill the man. But James stayed in his chair and the brief flash of bloody red rage she'd seen in his eyes faded.

"The _Jolly Roger?_ The pirate ship crewed by the damned and captained by the Devil himself, eh? That's a gasser, that is. She don't exist."

A much older man put a hand on the big sailor's shoulder. "Oh, she existed, she did," he said. "Took more ships and more swag than any ship to sail the seas. But she sailed out and disappeared some years ago. 'Tis said that the Devil took her back to Hell with him when he'd had enough a' the piratin' life."

The big man laughed again. James smiled thinly.

"What exactly do you know of the _Jolly Roger's_ captain?" he asked. It was the old man who answered.

"A soulless bugger what they called Hook, they did. Had a great iron skewer 'stead of a right hand. Cried tears a' deadly poison, he did, and had eyes what turned red when e're he killed. It was said he were a man what never bled. And it were said he were no man at all, but a devil. Maybe even _the_ Devil."

James' thin smile grew wider and he raised his right arm. His hook glinted candlelight into the suddenly humorless faces of the sailors gathered around.

"Aye, and that don't mean nothing," the big sailor said gruffly. "Many's the man what lost a hand at sea."

James took his hook and slashed it across the back of his own left hand. The sight of no blood welling in the obvious wound caused the whole assemblage to take a giant step back.

The old sailor stepped to the door. "I'll not ship aboard a hellbound vessel," he said. "Not for any money."

"A wise man," James said. "For those of you not quite so wise, I assure you, while your souls may or may not be forfeit, the earthly rewards are great."

"I reckon the Devil's got a lien on my soul a'ready," the big sailor said. "But I ain't completely sold yet. What kind a' ship do ye run, Captain Hook, if that's who ye be?"

"A tight one," James said. That seemed to be all he was willing to say. The gathered sailors, apparently waiting on the big one's lead, seemed unconvinced. Aster suddenly realized why James had wanted her to come along. Clever man. She walked around to the front of the table and perched herself on the corner with her knees crossed, so that the exposure of several inches of well-turned ankle looked almost accidental.

"Oh, come now, boys, have a care. I personally guarantee she's the finest ship in any harbor," she said. There was a sudden general scramble to reach the quill and sign James' manifest. It was the big sailor to sign up first.

"Harry Bigwell, at yer service, Sir," he said, throwing down the quill.

"Welcome aboard, Mister Bigwell," James said. He wasn't looking at the man; his eyes met Aster's and she read triumph and conspiracy in them. She smiled, mostly for herself. She had not exactly agreed yet to become a true member of the _Jolly Roger's_ pirate crew, but for the first time she felt she had really earned her position if she decided she wanted it.

 **Chapter Fourteen: Smoke Rings in the Dark**

Aster joined James at the rail of the ship that evening as the sun was setting. He was not looking to the west but to the east, over the darkening seas. In his hand was a double cigar holder, though she had not previously known him to smoke.

"I hope it does not bother you," he said, referring to the smoke. "I don't feel moved to puff away at these things often, but now and again it is rather soothing somehow."

"Is something troubling you?" Aster asked.

"Yes. No. I don't know."

She slipped her arm through his. "It's port, isn't it? You'd rather be at sea."

"Yes."

Aster rested her cheek against his arm and they stood in silence, watching the world turn black. Behind them, Akachi and Smee rolled up the gangplank together, the elder man quite drunk and chatting away, the black man as silent as usual. Both men paused a moment when they saw their captain and the lady, and both went below to their respective cabins in silence. James didn't seem to notice them, or Aster for that matter, at all.

"Well, I think I'll go to bed," Aster said at last. "Will you be in soon?"

James tapped his ashes off into the water. "Not for awhile, I think. Good night, Lady Aster, and thank you for your assistance today. It could not have been your proudest moment, and I appreciate the sacrifice."

"It was no trouble," she said. "After all, if I am to be a pirate, I must exploit every advantage I can find, correct?"

"It seems I must be careful in what I say to you," James said, with a quiet chuckle. "I may find my own words turned quite against me one day."

"Good night, Captain," Aster said.

"Good night."

Aster went into the cabin, not without reluctance. James seemed so lost, somehow, not fully in command of himself. It was an unaccustomed and unnerving situation. It made her want to return to the open ocean as soon as possible so that he would be restored to his usual, sublimely confident self. But he had promised his men a full week at port, to appease them after an unusually long absence as much as for provisioning and hiring new crew, and they had not yet been at anchor a full twenty-four hours. She worried how much bleaker James' mood could become before they once more set sail.

Aster thought about this while she folded her clothes away and bathed. It was an odd touch, she thought, to put a real bath in a pirate ship, and yet it was characteristic of James as she had come to know him; a man of doubtless savage impulses, yet possibly the most perfect example of a civilized Englishman she had ever encountered. Regardless of the motivation behind it, she was grateful for the convenience and comfort of the old claw foot tub, a luxury unsurpassed by the fine wine served at dinner or even the French chef's best efforts.

She soaked in the cooling waters for nearly an hour, and still James did not come in from the deck. Finally she stepped out of the tub, wrapped the towel around herself, and opened the drains. As she watched the water swirling away she came to a sudden decision that surprised her, though she could not say that it was entirely unexpected at this point. The first of her trunks, the one containing her common dresses, had been unpacked, the garments stored in half of James' large wardrobe. The third trunk, with her wedding dress and fancy clothes, had been moved to the cargo hold. The second trunk was still packed and sitting in the corner of the cabin. James had not thought it wise to leave a trunk full of ladies' underthings unguarded in the common area of a ship full of pirates who had not seen a woman in some time. She opened it and selected a frilly white nightgown that left virtually nothing to the imagination. The bodice laced as tightly as her corsets, enhancing the view considerably, and the ruffled, flowing skirts were nearly sheer. She felt a bit silly wearing such a ridiculous thing, but her predominant emotion was a tense excitement. She sat down at the vanity to finish drying her hair.

James came in shortly thereafter. She spun in her chair to face him, suddenly breathless. He looked at her for a long moment, inscrutable. She began to feel horribly that she had somehow offended him.

"Quite fetching," he said at last. He did not sound very happy.

Aster felt desperately foolish. "I…thought you might like it," she said.

"I do, actually. Quite aesthetic. Particularly the red cheeks and heaving bosom."

Aster looked away from him and pulled a dressing gown around her shoulders. "I'm sorry," she said. "I… miscalculated."

"Just a bit, I'm afraid."

"Is there…any particular reason why you don't want me?" she said in a very small voice.

"Don't feel badly about it," he said. "I don't want anyone, I'm afraid. I don't have those feelings."

She looked at him. He didn't seem to be speaking falsehoods.

"You don't…have those feelings?"

"Not at all. I've heard men say how the sight of a lovely woman sets their blood to racing. As I have no blood, perhaps that is the reason."

"…Oh." It had not been so long ago that Aster would have been happy to hear such a thing, but now she felt like she might start crying. To forestall such shameful exhibition, she stood up and drew her dressing gown more firmly around her.

"I suppose I should just go to sleep, then," she said, and moved to get into the bed. He grasped her arm when she came near.

"I don't know that it's any consolation," he said, "but you do rather make me wish I _could_ feel that way."

A tear escaped her then. "Jas, do you… _can_ you…love me?" she asked.

He paused. She knew he would be honest, even cruelly so, before he ever answered.

"No."

"Oh. All right." Trying not to sniffle, she climbed into bed and pulled the covers up over her shoulders. She turned to face the wall, putting herself on the furthest inner edge of the bunk.

"I think I need another cigar," James said, and left.

 **Chapter Fifteen: Crocodile Hide**

"Me lady, could I bother ye for a mo'?" Mister Smee's fat, ruddy face was worried behind his beard.

It was the third morning in Nassau. Aster was standing at the rail, looking toward the sea and sunrise and trying not to cry, when the First Mate approached her. She wiped her eyes quickly before the little man could see the tears welling in them.

"Yes, Smee, of course," she said.

"Uh…me lady, I don't mean to pry and all, but, seems to me ye been a mite down in the mouth lately…is somethin' a botherin' of ye? Somethin' I can help ye with?"

"No, Smee, it's nothing. Just…just a touch of homesickness, I suppose. Silly, since I never liked my home to begin with."

"Ah. If ye don't mind me askin', Lady, where is home? Fer ye, I mean."

"I grew up in Charles Town," she said. "But it isn't my home anymore. I was supposed to go to Lost Hope, which felt much the way it sounded to me, but the _Jolly Roger_ is my home now, I imagine."

"Ye don't sound so happy about that, Missus. Seemed to me fer a time ye was startin' to like the idear."

"Oh, I love the ship. It's just…port, I guess. I think I'd really rather be at sea."

"Yer like the Captain, ye be," Smee said comfortably. "Allus feels better when the wind's in the sails. Makes me kinda anxious to be movin' off with the tide meself, it do. Spent too much time at anchor in years past, watchin' the Captain fall apart by degrees. Started thinkin' he'd never be hisself again, I did. Was never so happy as when we put that cursed island behind us fer the last time and the Captain started shakin' off that wicked spell. Hope we never go back there, and that's the honest truth."

"What cursed island, Smee?"

Smee suddenly looked uncomfortable. "Knew Captain tole ye 'bout the Crocodile, but if'n he ain't tole ye nothin' more then 'tis thinkin' I be that it ain't my place to say aught about it. Anyways, standin' here a jawin' I done forgot why I bothered ye in the first place. Me lady, do ye know aught about fancy weaving? Lace and such like."

"Do you mean how to make it?"

"Aye, Lady."

Aster was suddenly transported back to endless afternoons with her governess, forced to tat for hours on end because it was "proper and accomplished." "Yes…" she said at last, reluctantly. Smee's face lit instantly.

"I know it ain't exactly proper a' me to ask it a' ye, bein' the Captain's lady and all, but 'tis hopin' I be that ye could help me. Would ye come to me cabin fer a mo', Lady? Er…we'll leave the door open."

Aster nearly laughed at the idea that the little old man might be asking her to his cabin for nefarious intents, but that would probably have hurt his feelings. "All right, Mister Smee. Lead on."

"Been workin' on somethin', ye see," Smee explained as he led her into the crew's quarters. "Been playin' holy hell to finish it, 'cause it ain't been easy goin', but 'tis thinkin' I be that I got it under control now. But I got to lookin' at it here and realized, 'tis ugly as hell."

He opened the door of the First Mate's cabin, and Aster saw instantly what he meant. On a dressmaker's dummy was an unfinished jacket of the style James always wore. It was made out of leather, sickly mottled green with ridged plates like armor.

"Is that… _crocodile_ skin?"

"Aye, Lady. Thought it might be kind of a trophy, ye know. Thirty year that damned beast had Captain Hook on the run, but he got his in the end. Had to practically drill holes in the stuff 'fore it'd take a needle. But I be thinkin' Captain would never wear this as is. Methinks I can dye it black. Akachi said he knows of some stuff what'd soak into steel, he does - but a bit o' frill couldn't hurt."

"I do think it would look quite nice dyed black," Aster said speculatively. "And a bit of Irish lace at the cuffs would be just right, I think. Yes, I could do that. It wouldn't be difficult at all."

Smee clapped his hands together and laughed. "Aye, I knew it couldn't hurt to ask! Thank ye, Missus; ye've saved the day, ye have. If ever there's aught ol' Smee can do fer ye, all ye has to do is ask."

"That's all right, Smee. I'm happy to help."

 **Chapter Sixteen: Separation**

Aster worked away at her newly purchased shuttle. She sat in the wing-back armchair in the Captain's cabin, grateful for the mindlessly repetitive work to keep her mind off the way things were going. She had scarcely spoken to James since that first night in port. He seemed to be going to great pains to avoid her.

Someone knocked. "Enter," she said. A strange man opened the door and tipped his hat to her.

"'Allo, Lady," the man said in a strong Cockney accent. "Sorry to disturb ye, but Cap'n 'as me up t' some woodworkin' 'ere. I'm Tig 'Enried, new ship's carpenter."

"Pleased to meet you, Mister Henried. Do you need me to leave?"

"Gonna be doin' a mite o' 'ammerin', me lady, so you might be wantin' to, but you bain't in me way if I bain't in yers."

"Then I should just as soon stay; I have a bit of work of my own to finish."

"As ye will, Lady." Henried said. He set down his box of tools and left the room. He came back some short while later with planks of wood.

"May I ask, what work does the Captain have you doing?" Aster said.

Henried tipped his hat again. "Makin' you a bunk, me lady."

Aster fumbled the loom. "Oh, I see," she said, continuing as though nothing were wrong. "Very good."

"Very strange, t' my way a' thinkin', Lady," Henried said, though he began working immediately. "Why, if I 'ad a lovely young thing like you fer a wife, an' she shipped out with me, I damn sure wouldn't put 'er in a separate bed, if it don't offend ye t' 'ear it. Trouble in paradise, Lady?"

"It is merely a matter of convenience, Mister Henried," Aster said freezingly. "The bunk of a ship is not designed for two people, even husband and wife."

"Beggin' yer pardon, Missus. Folks allus tell me I don' know when t' shut me ever-lovin' trap."

Henried apparently had realized that time was come, and he continued building the platform in silence. Aster continued weaving her lace but it was hard to concentrate and she kept fumbling with the shuttle. She felt like a prisoner watching the stocks being built. Finally she set the thing aside and stood up.

"I think I need some air," she said, and left the cabin.

 **Chapter Seventeen: Sailing**

"Smee, are we damned?"

Aster spent more and more time with the First Mate as James continued to shun her company. Right now the First Mate was teaching her to tie knots on the foredeck, and her question, coming as it did from nowhere, caught him completely off guard.

"Now me lady, why would you be askin' a thing like that, eh?"

They had been at sea for two days. James' bleak attitude was not noticeably improved, and Aster too was feeling the pressure. She gazed out at the waters, listlessly winding her length of rope through her fingers, and said, "The men - the new men - said that this was a damned ship, captained by the Devil. It bothered some of them enough that they refused to sign on, but the rest didn't seem to mind overmuch. Is it true? Are we all bound for hell together?"

"Are ye askin' if James be the Devil, then, Lady?" Smee said gently.

She looked at him then, face earnest. "You've known him longer than anyone, you must know."

Smee put down his rope and pulled an ancient pipe from his waistcoat pocket. He made a great production out of tamping and lighting it before he answered her.

"I've asked meself the same question I don't know how many times, Lady. I don't have a real good answer for ye, I'm afeared, but I'll tell ye this: when I met James Hook he weren't James Hook a'tall, but a lad named James Cook; two good hands and a shadow on the ground at his feet. I don't believe he were a devil then, though he were odd from the first he was. And I don't believe he's a devil now, neither. I don't know what it is he be, with no blood and tears a' poison, but I think, at the bottom, he's just a man. A powerful lonely man, at that."

"He seems to prefer it that way."

"Seems to. But doesn't. It's just pride, Missus. Man's got a powerful lot a' it, and it makes him cruel at times. When you two wasn't at outs like ye be now, he seemed a mite happier to me."

Aster looked at Smee, who was carefully looking anywhere else. "How much do you know?" Aster asked at last.

"Nothin' much, Lady; nothin' specific. And I don't figure to make it any a' my business. But I sees the way the wind is blowin', I does. And it seems the two a' ye be tackin' in different directions, ye be."

"It's not by my choosing, Smee."

"Aye, but don't ye think maybe ye might be the one to kinda…change course?"

"How am I supposed to do that, Smee? He won't talk to me, he won't even look at me."

Smee stood up and patted her shoulder. "Ye'll figure somethin' out, Lady. Yer brainy, like the Captain. Maybe it ain't so hard as ye think. Maybe all ye has to do is take him by the hand."

 **Chapter Eighteen: Hailed**

"Ship ahoy!"

They were a week out from Nassau. James and Aster still were not speaking, at least not socially. He was unfailingly polite but some cold malice in his eyes stopped her from putting Smee's rather sensible plan into action. They ate together but their conversation was limited to the food and drink, and now Aster slept in her own bunk. She told herself she was better off; plenty of room, warm blankets, no cold unnatural body nearby to chill her. But somehow the empty bed remained as cold or colder than the one she had shared with James.

"Captain, we're bein' hailed!" the shout came from Harry Bigwell, standing at the starboard rail with a spyglass.

"What kind of ship is it?" James asked.

"Big sloop, looks like a merchant vessel. She don't have much fer heavy guns."

"Orders, Sir?" Bill Jukes, at the helm, asked.

"Take us within hailing distance, Mister Jukes," James ordered, "but hang back a trifle. We'll see what she wants, but I'll not be led into a trap."

"Ahoy the Ship!" The voice came drifting over the water to the _Jolly Roger_.

"Ahoy yerself," Alf Mason stepped to the rail to return the cry.

"We seek word of the ship _Grey Lady_ , returning from Charles Town to Lost Hope. Have ye seen aught of her?"

James practically ran to the rails. His eyes were alight with a wicked eagerness.

"The _Grey Lady_ was a ship belonging to Commodore Bryce Buckland, was she not?" he called out. "Is he aboard?"

"The Commodore is safely at his home. We seek word of the _Grey Lady_ on his behalf. His intended was aboard."

"Aye, so she was. And now she's aboard the _Jolly Roger_. Return ye to Lost Hope, and tell Buckland if he wants her back, he'll have to come for her himself."

"Do you mean to say you've taken the _Grey Lady_ and hold Commodore Buckland's intended hostage?" was the outraged reply.

"Aye. And if you don't wish a taste of the same lead I fed the captain of Buckland's favorite garbage scow, ye'll turn your ship about and do as I bid."

"I demand you return Lady Aster at once."

"You demand nothing." James turned to his men. "Fetch Long Tom. He'll speak the tongue this popinjay will understand."

The big gun was rolled out of its compartment. "Fire a warning shot across their bow," James commanded. The huge cannon roared authoritatively. From the deck of the _Jolly Roger_ Aster could see the panicked scrambling of the men aboard the sloop. She sat on the steps leading to the quarterdeck, arms wrapped around her knees, and watched the other ship keel over in a hard turn. She was bait, now, a pawn in James' game of revenge against Bryce Buckland, and James couldn't even seem to remember why he held such a grudge against the man.

"Shall we pursue, Sir?" Bill Jukes asked.

"No, let them go. We'll stay in this area, take a few ships, make ourselves conspicuous, and wait. If Buckland wants Aster, he'll come for her. And then I'll have him at last."

 **Chapter Nineteen: Confrontation**

An obsessive mania had fallen upon James and he kept the crew working long and hard, chasing down merchant vessels, taking swag, causing general mayhem. Aster took part in some of these shipboard raids, and the crew had taken to calling her "Black Aster," as though they considered her an equal. She found it an enjoyable line of work, rather, but she was far from happy. James was slipping farther and farther from her and she was afraid to take any action to prevent a total schism.

Aster had occasion in the past to wonder at and worry about the apparent gaps in James' memory; she had asked him how he happened to come to piracy and he had not been able to recount the tale, nor could he recall how he came to name his ship after the pirate flag or how he had met Smee and Akachi, who had been with him the longest. She got her answers from Smee, who seemed less affected by whatever had caused this strange amnesia, but even he was a bit vague on the past. One thing Smee could not recall was why James was so intent on destroying Bryce Buckland.

"He were First Mate on the first ship James and I served on together," Smee said uncomfortably, "and somethin' happened to make James hate him, but blamed if I can remember exactly what."

Smee seemed to know what caused these lapses in memory, but he refused to say. Aster considered asking Akachi, but only briefly. The stoic black man was as intimidating, in his way, as this new incarnation of her supposed husband. She resigned herself to living a mystery and trying to stay out of James' way, though Smee's evident disappointment was hard to bear.

After six weeks of piracy, the hail of "ship ahoy" finally heralded a conclusion to the madness. The ship was an iron-clad, with a full complement of guns. Most of the crew, Aster included, had no desire to face off against it, but James did not hesitate to give the order to fight. Long Tom made up a good deal of the difference in armament, but it was a difficult battle and the _Jolly Roger_ took a good deal of punishment before the ships drew close to broadsides and the crew of the other ship sent out grappling lines for boarding.

"To arms, men!" James cried, and drew his sword. "Send the puling spawn to hell!"

Aster fell to arms with the rest of the men, and she was forced to give thanks to James' coaching as she took her attackers low and dirty, dispatching three before she suddenly found herself face to face with Commodore Bryce Buckland. Shocked, her blade fell from nerveless fingers. The old man grabbed her and called to his men.

"I have her! Back to the ship, boys!"

Aster shrieked and kicked, but the old man was damnably strong. She found herself borne away past the flashing blades and retreating attackers, and she had time to think that no one would stop this madness. Then she heard an ungodly roar rise above the sounds of pitched battle.

"No! You shall not have her!"

James appeared out of nowhere, an avenging angel with blade flashing hard glints of sunlight into Aster's eyes, dazzling her. Buckland snarled and pushed her behind him, sword raised to deflect James' attack.

"She's mine! She was promised to me!" Buckland said.

"And she's married to _me,_ Buckland," James snarled back.

The revelation made Buckland falter, but when James moved to strike him down the old man's blade flashed out with uncanny quickness and laid open James' cheek to the bone. Buckland's eyes widened in shock at the bloodless wound, then narrowed.

"I remember ye…the Bloodless Whelp. So, ye live. Guess I shoulda finished ye meself long ago. Least it's a mistake I can rectify now."

The combatants faced off in a circle of staring men. Forgotten for the moment, Aster did not know whether to help James or try and escape somehow, once and for all, from both men. Before she could decide her arm was taken and a nervous Smee, sneaking through the assemblage, led her to the Captain's Cabin.

"Get inside, me Lady," he said. "I know yer not the hide-in-the-shadows sort, but this is Captain's fight, and since it's over ye, I don't think ye need to be in the vicinity. Captain would have my head if they got ye smuggled away, he would."

Aster went to the wall and opened one of the spyholes James used to ensure his men did not shirk their duties when he was not on deck. From there she was able to see most of the battle, and their voices were loud enough that she heard much of their verbal sparring as well.

"Yer a walkin' miscarriage, Cook," Buckland shouted. "Aster's a mercenary little wench, and she's out to survive and thrive; ye haven't actually deluded yerself she _loves_ ye, have ye?"

James parried his assault with a flourish of blade and hook. "I'm no fool," he snarled. "And you; do you actually think she _wants_ to go with you? To warm your sheets for you? Don't be absurd."

"I don't _care_ what the little wench wants, Cook; what matters is what I was promised. That's the difference between ye and me, Cook - I'm satisfied with what I can take fer meself. Ye want all the things ye can never have."

"What on earth are you talking about?"

"I know ye, Boy, I can read ye like me own name on paper. Ye want to be her hero, ye do; ye wants her to run to ye and love ye even though yer the foulest mistake the Good Lord ever made. But nobody'll ever love ye; even yer own mother couldn't stand to look at ye, could she, Boy?"

James faltered, and Buckland struck him with the flat of his blade. He stumbled and fell to his knees. Buckland kicked him in the chest and he fell over. "Say goodbye, Whelp," he snarled.

Aster shrieked and exploded from the cabin, despite Smee's weak entreaties. Stumbling from the very force of her own momentum, she managed to maintain her footing long enough to reach James. She fell across him and made every effort to shield him with her own body.

"Get out of the way, foolish girl!" Buckland said, and tried to kick her away. She only clung more desperately to her husband.

"Move off, Aster," James said calmly. "Let it be finished."

"No," she said. "Don't give up, Jas - keep fighting."

"Why? It's no use. Everything he said is true."

"James, _this_ is true," she said, and pressed her lips firmly to his.

 **Chapter Twenty: The Hidden Kiss**

Never in his life, either as Hook or Cook, had James ever been kissed. He held the act in disdain, and never really did understand the power Wendy's kiss had imparted to Peter Pan when James had put the boy into similar circumstances to which he now found himself. But with Aster's warm lips pressed against his mouth, he understood for the first time the true power of the Hidden Kiss. His heart started beating. It was the first time he had ever felt that when he was not thoroughly enraged. Warmth spread throughout his entire body and his wounded cheek began to bleed profusely - the first blood he had ever shed that was his own.

Buckland reached down and plucked Aster away. "Get off him, girl. Ye belong to me, and don't ye forget - "

Suddenly Buckland found himself with a blade at his throat. James was on his feet, though no one saw him stand, face flushed and gore covering nearly half of it, and he was grinning. His eyes glowed as brightly as they did before he killed in rage, but they were not red but brilliant, Caribbean blue. Buckland tried to defend himself but James' swift flurry of sword and hook had him disarmed in moments. James pressed the point of his cutlass against the old man's wattled Adam's apple. Buckland swallowed hard.

"You…are old," James said. "Old and pathetic. You're so afraid of your own impending death you thought to forestall it, that a warm woman could hold back the gravestone chill of your lonely bed, but that cannot be, Buckland. You have nothing left but guile, old man, and precious little of that. You are old, and you'll die soon. Alone, and unloved."

He stepped back and lowered his sword. Akachi and Harry Bigwell immediately stepped forward and grasped Buckland by the arms.

"Put him back on his ship, men," James ordered. "If ever there was honor in killing this creature, that time is past now. Send him back to Lost Hope, and this time he'll know it truly is."

"Ye'd best to kill me, Whelp," Buckland said. "I'll not rest until I've hunted ye down."

"You can try," James said. "It won't do you any good. You've run out of time, Buckland. Funny that all this while I thought it was I. Boys, disable their guns; don't let them get any big ideas."

"Aye, Captain. Come on, you." Taken prisoner by the pirates of the _Jolly Roger_ , Buckland's men were returned to their ship ignominiously. Akachi and Bigwell set to immediately, pushing their cannons off the decks into the water. What couldn't be moved they dismantled with Tig Henried's tools. Finished, the pirates released their prisoners and returned to the _Jolly Roger_. James gave the order to sail and they left Buckland behind in a heartbeat; even wounded, the _Roger_ could outstrip any ship on the sea when she wanted to.

"James?" Aster was hesitant to approach him, uncertain of her reception. He turned and smiled at her.

"You'll not see Bryce Buckland again, Love. Does that make you happy?"

"Very."

His cheek had stopped bleeding, his skin had gone pale once more, and the blue of his eyes was fading quickly. "It won't last, you know."

"What won't last?"

"This." He took her hand and pressed it to his chest. She felt his heartbeat, and she felt it slowing down like an unwound clock. "I am sorry, my dear. For a moment there, I had some hope that you had 'cured' me. But it seems not to be the case."

"I…I could kiss you again," Aster said shyly.

James shook his head sadly. "No. It might work once or twice, but sooner or later I would grow accustomed to it…and then it wouldn't work at all."

"So…what now, then? We go back to being strangers in separate beds?"

He raised her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers. Already his skin had grown cold again.

"It's for the best, my dear. Perhaps you think you care for me now, perhaps you even think you love me, but in the final analysis, I am not a man worth loving. I'll never be able to love you as I am."

"I don't care," Aster said stubbornly. "If you cannot love me, then I shall simply have to love _you_ enough for both of us."

James pulled away from her. "We'll find a pleasant port and I shall put you ashore. There's more than enough gold aboard for you to live like a queen for the rest of your life, and you're entitled to your share."

She grabbed his sleeve. "I won't go," she said. "I belong on this ship. I belong with _you."_

"I can't be the man you need," James said, and walked away.

 **Chapter Twenty-One: Lost Soul**

Aster sat in the bow of the ship, just behind the bowsprit, occupied with nothing but staring out to sea. The ship's course had been aimless since the confrontation with Buckland as James kept changing his mind about their next destination, and the crew had become rather aimless as well. Most of them kept out of her way, the rest kept shooting her sympathetic glances she ignored. She didn't want their pity.

Akachi came onto the forecastle and sat down on a tar barrel. He said nothing for a long time, merely worked on mending one of the nets the men used to fish with when salted meat began to turn the stomach.

"You are a strange woman," he said at last. They were the first words he had ever spoken to her voluntarily.

"I dare say you are correct," Aster said absently.

He simply mended his nets. Aster thought his conversational load was shot, but he had more to say.

"That is why he cares for you."

"He can't."

"He cannot _love_ you," Akachi corrected. "But he does care. He will never be able to love until his soul is restored to him."

"His…soul is restored?"

Akachi nodded. "And fully. _Inside,_ not outside as before."

"And…how would that be done?" she asked cautiously, uncertain if she was dealing with native superstition, wisdom, or insanity.

"We must return to the Never-Land. Peter Pan must be made to rejoin James. It would not be easy. Neither recalls that the other is rightfully part of them. It is the curse of the island."

"I don't understand."

Akachi stood up. "Perhaps you do not need to. It is time it was done, no matter the reason. James has been lost for too long. I will speak to him."

 **Chapter Twenty-Two: Remember Me**

"James."

Akachi was standing in the open door of James' cabin, more than a bit of a surprise as the man had never entered without knocking before.

"Yes?"

"It is time to return to the Never-Land."

"I think some of the crew would disagree with you, my friend. Smee, for one."

"What they think does not matter. It is what I know. You must finish what you began thirty years ago."

James' face went blank. Akachi stepped forward.

"You do not remember because the island makes you forget. But you are stronger by far than any curse. _Remember_ , James - Remember how you are connected with Peter Pan."

James' touched his right wrist. "He cut off my hand…"

Akachi shook his head. "No. That was only an accident, that was not why you had chased the boy to begin with. _Think_ , James. You were born dead, but you were too strong to simply lie still as a dead child ought. You are too strong to let a faerie curse cloud your mind forever."

"I…he…" James shook his head violently. "No. There's nothing."

" _Think,"_ Akachi commanded urgently.

"He was…he was…my…shadow…"

"Yes. And your shadow was…?"

James sat down and put his face in his hand. He buried the point of his hook in the wood of the table. "My shadow was…my soul."

Akachi stepped to his side and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Well done, Captain. You _are_ stronger than the curse."

"But what does that mean, Akachi? What am I supposed to do now that I know this?"

"You must find Pan, and you must join with him. You will never be whole until you do. You will never be able to love."

James raised his face, speculation writ large on his features. "You think that if I somehow manage to…what, sew Pan onto me, the way that Wendy girl sewed his shadow back onto him, that I'll be capable of loving?"

"No. He cannot be outside of you if you wish to be the lady's husband."

"I…think I see what you're getting at, but I fail to understand how I can manage this feat."

"You must convince Pan that it is what is best, for both of you."

"Convince Peter Pan to become, not only a man, but a _pirate?_ His greatest enemy, no less? Do you have any idea how I ought to bring that off?"

Akachi shrugged. "You are a clever man. You will find the way."

James stared at his Second Mate for a long time, though he was not really seeing him. Finally he came to some decision and stood up. He clapped Akachi on the shoulder and walked out of the cabin and onto the deck.

"Mister Smee!" he cried out. Snoozing at the helm, Smee jerked awake.

"Y-yes, Captain?"

"We're changing course. Make for the Never-Land. You know the way."

"The - the Never-Land, Captain?"

"Aye, Smee. I have unfinished business with Peter Pan."

 **Chapter Twenty-Three: Souled**

Alone except for his faerie companion, Tinkerbelle, Peter Pan hid in the trees and watched the ship sail into the Mermaid Lagoon. If it had been any other ship there would not even have been the slightest tug of recognition in his mind after so long, but he remembered the _Jolly Roger_ well enough. It made him happy to see it, actually. He could not remember Wendy, Michael, or John, and the Lost Boys too were but faded memories, but he knew that the Never-Land was rather dull with no one to play with except Indians and faeries. Where there were pirates, things were never dull.

"Come on, Tink - let's have some fun," he said, and together they flew into the rigging of the pirate ship.

"Captain!" Smee called out. "Do we attack?" The little man was unhappy with the idea, unhappy with being back in this cursed harbor all together, but he would do as his Captain commanded.

"No. Stow your weapons, boys. This is between Pan and me."

James walked to the middle of the deck. "Peter! Peter Pan! I wish to speak to you, face to face. I'm throwing down my weapons and my men have been ordered not to attack you."

James unholstered his flintlock and slid it across the planks to the feet of Harry Bigwell. His cutlass followed soon after. Peter descended a few dozen feet and peered out cautiously from around the main mast.

"You're not disarmed," he pointed out.

James smiled. "Forgive me, I didn't stop to consider that." He unscrewed his hook and tossed it away. "There. Do I seem more trustworthy now?"

Peter landed lightly on the deck a few feet away. "A little."

"We need to talk, you and I, Peter. About the future."

"I don't like the future. I like the now."

"I know, Peter, but what do you like about the now? You are alone, Peter. Wendy left you."

Peter looked puzzled. "Who?"

"Wendy. _Your_ Wendy. The girl you loved. The girl who gave you her Kiss."

Peter still looked puzzled, but his hand instinctively reached for the shiny silver thimble sewn onto his leaf-made tunic. "…Wendy…"

"Wendy. You used to visit her window, didn't you? To listen to her stories. Cinderella, Snow White…she made them over into stories of blood and thunder, but they all ended with a Kiss, didn't they? And then your shadow…your shadow has always been quite a problem for you, hasn't it, Peter? Likes to run away from you. Wendy sewed it on for you. But no one ever sewed my shadow on for me, Peter, and now it's gone. I need it back."

Peter took a step back. "What does that have to do with me?"

"Your shadow knows, Peter. It remembers. Doesn't it? That's why it tries to get away. Your shadow is that little piece of _me_ that stayed with _you,_ just as all my bitterness and disappointment is the little piece of _you_ that stayed with _me_. You are part of me, Peter Pan - you are my soul."

Peter backed away still further. "Oh, no I'm not. And you can't make me be."

"You're right, I cannot force you to rejoin me. But think on this, Peter. You are incomplete, just as I am incomplete. Without you, I can never truly live. I can never know what it is to love, or to truly be loved. And without me, neither can you."

"I don't care about love!" Peter shouted.

"I think you do. _I_ do, and I don't have the same feelings you have. I don't know happiness, or playfulness, or any of the things you know so well that breed love. But Peter, I want to. I've found myself a Wendy."

"You…have a _Wendy?"_

James nodded. "Her name is Aster, and she is my wife. She loves me, too, though I can scarce imagine why. But without my soul, Peter, I cannot be her husband. I cannot love her without you."

Peter took one step closer. "But…if I go back…I'll have to be a man."

"Yes, Peter, you will. Partly, at least. But perhaps for the first time in my life I can learn what it is to be a boy. If we meet each other half way, it wouldn't be so bad, would it?"

James reached out his hand. Peter stepped closer. He raised his hand, then lowered it again.

"It won't…it won't hurt, will it? 'Cause it did, before…when I left."

"It hurt me, too," James said. "But I don't think this is the same thing, Peter. That was an act of destruction, tearing both of us apart. This is more like creation, don't you think? And I don't think it will hurt."

"What will become of me, when I am you? Will I still be me?"

"I don't know, Peter, I honestly don't. I know that with you I was James Cook and without you I was James Hook. I don't even know who _I_ will be when we are truly one at last. But I am ready to find out. It should be a great adventure."

Peter reached out and grabbed James' hand. The crew watched, struck utterly dumb, as boy and man immediately merged, becoming one. No one knew any better than James himself who it was that straightened up before them then, but one thing was certain: it was not the same James Hook he had been.

Aster stepped forward tentatively. "James?" she ventured.

He turned to her and put his arms around her in an impulsive hug. "Yes, my love?" The pirates gathered around them on the deck were surprised and pleased to see the shadows of man and woman embracing each other on the deck as well.

Pressed against James' chest, Aster could feel his heart beating. He was warm and his face was flushed. His eyes were brilliant blue again. She buried her face in his waistcoat and wept. He stroked her hair tenderly and she raised her face to look at him.

"If this is really what you want," he said, "I will spend what's left of my life making you happy."

"This is what I want," she affirmed.

"So what will it be, my love? Shall I find you a seaside mansion where we will live in gloried splendor eternally? Or do you wish for something else?"

"I don't think I'm the stay-at-home-and-make-babies type," she said. "I think I'm more of a pirate." James grinned and twirled her around the deck.

"Then a pirate ye shall be, Hearty: Black Aster, scourge of slavers, the most infamous of the lady pirates. There was never a captain prouder to put a hand on the account."

Smee coughed pointedly from the cabin hatchway. "Er, Captain? Don't mean to interrupt, I doesn't, but…well…me and the lady…we kinda made somethin' for ye. It's been done awhile now but I didn't know when would be the right time to show ye. This feels like the right time."

With a theatrical flourish, Smee revealed the Crocodile skin jacket, dyed a rich black with Aster's Irish lace on the cuffs, Crocodile teeth and claws for buttons and cufflinks. "I…er…hope ye likes it, Sir."

James stood with his right arm around Aster's waist, a slightly twisted smile on his face. "The last time I was in that blasted creature's skin, Smee, I didn't much care for the experience."

Smee's face fell. James laughed and stepped forward, shrugged out of his jacket, and allowed the First Mate to help him into the new one. It suited him perfectly - elegant, and yet brutal at the same time.

"Your best work, Smee," James said. "You missed the chance of a lifetime when you chose piracy over tailoring. I thank you."

The old man stepped back, blushing. "Yeah, well, I…I wouldn't have me life another way, Captain."

"And I would not know the ship without you, Smee. I never told you this, but I consider you my benefactor. I would be trapped in some horrible office, whiling away my days and heading to hell down the same road my father took. I much prefer this road, though it leads the same direction. The company is better."

"Well, if it's Hell we're goin', Captain, I'll be there and ready to help ye take it over."

"Good man." James returned to the middle of the deck to address the rest of his crew.

"Well, my friends, have we had enough of strangeness and mystery? Shall we set sail for fortune and adventure once more?"

"Aye!" returned to him in a thunderous roar of approval. Harry Bigwell returned James' weapons, and Mister White recovered his hook. James screwed it into place and it locked into position with an authoritative _snick._

"Mister Jukes - take us out."

"Aye, Sir. Destination?"

James moved to the rail, drawing Aster along with him.

"Wherever the wind will take us, Mister Jukes."

 **Epilogue: Happily Ever…?**

I would like very much to tell you that James, Aster, Smee, Akachi, and the rest of the crew of the _Jolly Roger_ lived happily ever after. As I say, I would _like_ to tell you that. But life rarely works that way except in stories. They had their problems, all of them. And just as you or I must do, they faced them down and dealt with those problems in their own ways.

I would like to say that James and Aster's love grew ever stronger, and that their union was one long haze of bliss, but I cannot. Being both stubborn, strong-willed individuals, James and Aster did not have a peaceful, stress-free marriage. They had arguments, and sometimes those arguments were minor and sometimes not. I _can_ say that never again did they sleep in separate bunks, and that for the rest of his life, Aster's kiss retained the power to set James' heart racing.

I would _like_ to say that James turned a new leaf and ceased to be a wicked pirate, but I cannot. A pirate he was and a pirate he remained, and Aster joined him, becoming quite as notorious as her husband. But I _can_ also say that the illegal slave trade mostly died out during that time, killed by the advent of mechanization, but doubtless sped along by the _Jolly Roger's_ ceaseless efforts on that behalf.

Smee was eventually forced to retire as First Mate, as age caught up to him and his health deteriorated. He remained an honored guest aboard the ship for the rest of his life, and spent much of his time sewing and drinking. Akachi stepped into the First Mate's position, and Harry Bigwell became Second Mate. How Akachi felt about his life would be hard to say, but he remained James' most loyal officer and when at last he retired, he had enough money saved away to buy a small South Pacific island, where he lived peacefully to the end of his days.

As to the _Jolly Roger_ herself, though left far behind in terms of advancement by the metal-hulled monstrosities that became ever more prevalent as the years progressed, she remained a legend of the high seas. Responsive to her Captain's every mood, she was faster, stronger, and prouder than any ship afloat. Crewed by the cheerfully damned and captained by the vengeful Devil, her name was spoken in whispers by sailors spinning yarns in seaside taverns worldwide.

For James and Aster, despite the trials they faced and the crimes they were guilty of, love and adventure did seem to go hand in hand. It was as James said that first night in their bed after his soul was restored and he held his wife in his arms for the first time: "To live…shall be the greatest adventure of all."


End file.
